


Broken Blaster

by SevenSeaSaurus



Category: Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic (Video Games)
Genre: A LOT OF DIALOGUE, Card Games, Other KOTOR characters briefly mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-23 19:35:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18708607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SevenSeaSaurus/pseuds/SevenSeaSaurus
Summary: Enemies are enemies, war is war.





	Broken Blaster

**Author's Note:**

> Merry May the Fourth everyone.

Mandalore had a broken blaster.

He was a damn good soldier with that blaster, good enough to have won more than a few tough fights during the Mandalorian Wars. And good enough to have earned the respect of more than a few colorful characters. He’d been a mercenary, a smuggler, worked for a crime lord.

But he had a broken blaster.

He had even traveled alongside Revan—Revan! Sith Lord Revan! Commander of the Jedi army against the Mandalorians, Revan! Newfound hero of the Jedi and republic alike, Revan! Of course, that was back when he was Canderous Ordo. It was Revan himself who went with Canderous to find the old helmet that would crown him Mandalore, chief and commander of the Mandalorians. Revan, for fuck’s sake! Once his greatest enemy, now an ally. No, more than an ally. A friend. A “deal me into this round of Pazaak” friend. A “tell me some of your old war stories” friend. A damn good friend.

But he had a broken blaster.

And with that blaster he accompanied the Jedi Exile. To be honest, he never got her name. Strange, that woman. She too had fought in the Mandalorian wars—a general. And a good one. Destroyed an entire planet while she was at it. But that was back then, this was now. Yes, now she too was a friend. A “do you think Atton is into me?” friend. A “pass me some of that Rodian ale” friend. A friend he could actually _talk_ to with the kind of sincerity that made him believe peace was possible between the Mandalorians and the Republic.

But he had a broken _fucking_ blaster, and in spite of the fact that he could make friends with a Light-turned-Dark-turned-Light commander, a force black-hole, a Wookie, a Twi-lek teenager, several Republic soldiers, more than a few Jedi, and the most bloodthirsty droid the galaxy would ever know, Mandalore could not earn even a shadow of goodwill from the only repair tech on this piece of junk ship.

Though, in all fairness, Bao-Dur was more than just a repair tech. He was a veteran of the Mandalorian Wars himself, and had played no small part in destroying that one planet. And now he was a Jedi—a fucking Jedi. Or some semblance of one at least. One could hardly call The Exile’s motley gaggle of force users _Jedi_. But if they could lift objects with their minds and shoot lightning from their fingertips then maybe they were something. No, Bao-Dur was a very special repair tech indeed, special enough to be the only person with a big enough chip on his shoulder to shrug Mandalore off.

A Mandalorian, however, will not surrender to some vendetta, especially if it means living with a broken blaster.

“Blaster’s broken. Something wrong with the firing mechanism,” he announced, dropping it on the workbench with a deliberate crash.

“Leave it there; I’ll get to it eventually.”

“Will you?”

“I will.”

“Or will you leave it on the workbench gathering dust until I give up and get the droid to fix it?”

“If you are so concerned why not take it to T3-M4 from the start?”

According to nearly everyone else on the Ebon Hawk, Bao-Dur had a pleasantly calm and soothing voice. Mandalore just heard sarcastic whispering.

“Because this all happened the last time and my blaster is still broken. That droid can open any door you point it at but has never been good working with weapons.”

Bao-Dur ignored that comment. In fact, he had been all but ignoring Mandalore for the whole conversation. Somehow one wall of scaffolding demanded more attention than a crewmate with a repair request.

“Listen, I get it. We mutually destroyed one another’s cultures. But can you just fix the blaster? Your general is willing to point me in the direction of any Mandalorians she meets, helping me restore my people to our former glory. And you can’t be bothered to repair _one blaster?”_

“I told you I would get to it eventually.”

“Well let’s hope ‘eventually’ is sometime before we reach Dantooine. I don’t want to see you eaten by a kinrath because I can’t get a bolt out.”

 

In truth, Mandalore did not need his blaster fixed. He was proficient with all manner of interesting weaponry. It was part of his honor as a Mandalorian to learn everything from shooting to fencing to even unarmed combat. He preferred a blaster, and he preferred _his_ blaster, but it wasn’t critical. No, this was about the principle.

If Bao-Dur wasn’t going to fix a blaster, how could Mandalore trust him in the heat of battle? Trust, responsibility, honor—that’s what makes a good soldier and a good army. If Bao-Dur were a Mandalorian, he’d know that. If he were a Mandalorian, they could settle this with a duel and come out the better for it.

Bao-Dur was not a Mandalorian, but Mandalore was. He would come back, and he would get that duel if he had to, one way or another.

 

But for now—

“How can I trust that you’re not cheating?”

\--Atton was, as usual, deeply immersed in a game of Pazaak.

 

“Boop beep fweep!”

“Against your programming, huh? That’s what they all say, but I know better. You can’t trust droids. All it takes is one, one who is programmed to lie, one who can gain your trust, one who can make you think that they just so happen to be good at Pazaak, and then—BAM they blast you in the back of the head.”

“Dwoo…”

“No I am not confusing you with HK. Well, he’s definitely sketchy too. But this is not about him; this is about you counting cards!”

Cute. Of course, T3 was a friendly and dutiful droid who doubtless had no intention to hurt Atton or anyone else. Though maybe it _was_ in the habit of counting cards.

“Another game?” Mandalore offered.

“With you? A nice, fair game with a nice, reasonable, organic person? Absolutely.”

T3 chirped and rolled out, off to check on this that or the other part of the ship that always needed a screw tightened. Atton shuffled the cards into two haphazard decks and passed them out.

“So, you wanna bet…?”

Mandalore was in it to kill time more than anything else, but a little bit of risk always made the game more interesting.

“300 credits.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Mandalore looked over his hand. Not great, to be honest. When was he ever going to use a minus-six? But you can’t back out over a bad deal; Mandalore always finished his fights—and his games.

“So, you thinking about something?” Atton was at a total of thirteen.

“I’ve got a broken blaster.” Eighteen, and no plus-two—better hold.

“Oh. Well I’m sure Bao-Dur can fix it for you.” Twenty. Of course.

“He can, but he wont.” So round one went to Atton, but those 300 credits weren’t gone yet.

“Right. I always forget how much you two hate each other.” Up to fifteen

Mandalore mulled over his cards. _You two hate each other_.

“Nah, I don’t hate him.” Nineteen, and he did have a plus-one.

Atton gave a quizzical look, inviting an explanation, but said nothing. His cards finished at nineteen, giving Mandalore his first round.

“Bao-Dur is a good soldier. And a good mechanic. I respect him. And even though I don’t claim to know anything about the force, I can tell he’s a lot better at it than you.” An easy twenty, straight from the deck.

“Thanks. So you guys don’t get along because…?” Atton made twenty as well. A tie.

“Not my call. He’s the one who won’t repair my blaster.” Fifteen.

“Uh, yeah. I could take him the blaster if you want—I can always get him to look at mine.” Sixteen.

“I said I respected Bao-Dur; I don’t think he’s an idiot. I already left the blaster with him, and I’ll talk to him again when I don’t get it back.” Drew a five, twenty.

“Fair enough.” Drew a two, and played a plus-two. Another tie.

They were silent for a time, each focused on his cards and his strategy. Mandalore managed to win a second round, but then so did Atton. It was a close game, and close games are always the most telling.

“Say, Mandalore?” Up to fourteen.

“Yeah?” Twelve.

“Have you ever, you know, talked to Bao-Dur about the war?” Now sixteen.

“War’s over.” Now eighteen.

“It is but, oh I don’t know. It doesn’t seem like he’s gotten over it.” Now nineteen, and he definitely didn’t have a plus-one. There was a chance.

“No one gets over war.” He pulled an eight, and that minus-six was useful after all.

Mandalore won.

 

First it was the game of Pazaak, then a conversation with the exile. Then a bite to eat, then something cryptic from Kreia. And then Mandalore decided to sit on his bunk and polish his armor.

He was not afraid to confront Bao-Dur, per se, but he didn’t know what sort of approach to use. Stern and threatening and Bao-Dur might be convinced to hate him even more. Indignant and petty never got anyone anything. And he was certainly not going to act apologetic and submissive.

So what then? Eventually he would need his blaster back, in working condition, and so eventually he would need to—

A blaster was dropped at his side.

“There was nothing wrong with the firing mechanism; the barrel was out of alignment.”

So that was that. No wonder T3 could never fix it properly.

But no, this conversation wasn’t over. Bao-Dur didn’t have the right to come in here, throw down a repaired blaster, and walk away. Mandalore had been too pissed for too long.

“Can I count on you for repairs in the future?”

Bao-Dur curled his lip at that. He must have wanted to keep his thoughts to himself. But nonetheless:

“I respect you, Mandalore. You are every bit deserving of that name, and I am glad to have you fighting alongside the General and I. But I can’t be your friend.”

“Your General could. Revan could.”

“But I can’t. If I were your friend,” he looked away.

“If I were your friend I would be _Mandalore’s_ friend. I have long hated your people, for everything you have done. For every part of your culture that demands needless slaughter. But I could be your friend in spite of my former hatred. And if I were, would those I lost on Malachor V be my friends? Those I _killed_ on Malachor V? It is not something I wish to discuss with you, but what happened on that planet pains me to this day. I cannot stand for the deaths of so many enemies, much less friends.”

It was not the way a Mandalorian would think. No, Mandalore was about to get that duel, albeit a verbal one.

“The Mandalorians you fought weren’t your friends, and never will be. No matter how well we get along. Go ahead, become friends with the survivors. You didn’t kill any survivors.” The first move.

“But if the survivors become my friends, then those I killed could have been.” And the first counter. Bao-Dur was going to hold a defensive position.

“Could have been, but weren’t. They were enemies, war is war.” Throw him off balance, make him readjust.

“They might not have been enemies, if not for my actions.” Unshaken. Damn.

“What about their actions? What happened to your nasty opinions about the Mandalorians?” A new tactic; turn the enemy against himself.

“Your atrocities do not justify mine.” Of course, Bao-Dur had long been against himself.

“So those who commit atrocities can’t be friends? Do you really think every person you’ve fought and killed truly deserved that fate?” Mandalore had not lied when he said he respected Bao-Dur. The man was a good warrior. Mandalore was better.

“What happened on Malachor V was worse than any enemy could deserve. But sometimes war is necessary.” He still held strong, but Mandalore saw his opportunity.

“What about now, then. Do the Sith all deserve to die?” A feint—

“The Sith are dangerous, far more so than the Mandalorians. You know as well as I that they need to be stopped.” –and Bao-Dur fell for it.

“And yet Atton is your friend. He has a fascinating history, in case you hadn’t heard. How do you know that the Sith you kill wouldn’t be as fun to grab a few drinks with?” Mandalore landed his first and final blow.

The duel was over; Bao-Dur could not respond to that.

“Kreia may be a cryptic old bitch,” Mandalore continued, “but she’s right about one thing—there is no ‘good’ and ‘evil’ out there. If you can only bear to kill cartoonishly wicked villains, you won’t be able to kill anyone. The dark side, the _real_ dark side, does not exist. Not among the Mandalorians, and not even among the Sith.

“I’m not asking you to forget about the war. But I need to know that if a dark Jedi tries to lop my head off with a lightsaber, you won’t hesitate to kill him. And I need to know someone who can repair my blaster.”

Bao-Dur hesitated, but nodded. "You can rely on me."

It wasn’t the same as winning in the dueling ring, or even a game of Pazaak. But Bao-Dur was quiet, and it seemed he might, for the first time, be considering Mandalore’s position. Of course, he would never say so—not even to himself.

Mandalore felt confident that he had won. Yes, Bao-Dur could have a Manalorian friend, he just couldn’t _admit_ it.

After all, Mandalore had a well-tuned blaster.


End file.
